


Together

by Empy (Empyreus)



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Challenge fic, Community: lotr_sesa, Established Relationship, Family, Grief/Mourning, Loss, M/M, Memories, Nighttime, Post-Battle of Five Armies, Post-Canon, Sad, Silence, Tattoos, Winter, brief vague reference to canonical character deaths
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-24
Updated: 2013-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-08 00:58:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1126492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Empyreus/pseuds/Empy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He wants to tell Dwalin to give up this ritual, to let the ghosts of those taken before their time settle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Together

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mm8](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mm8/gifts).



> One of two ficlets written for Mahm for the 2013 Lotr SeSa challenge. She provided a number of single-word prompts, and this ficlet is based on the prompt "together".
> 
> Many, many, _many_ thanks to the fantastic Galadriel for invaluable help.

He wakes in the middle of the night, not knowing why, and the room is still and silent. Too still. He turns, snarling himself into the sheets and pelts, and finds that he is alone in the bed. When he sets his hand on the edge of the familiar indent in the mattress, he finds it cool.

Stifling a yawn, he rises, fumbling for a candle that he can light on the brazier, spreading its gentle warmth in the corner of the room. The room and the rest of the chambers beyond it are familiar enough for him to navigate even in the dark, but the winter night seems to press in on him and the guttering candle offers some faint comfort.

 

His feet carry him to his study, the chamber with the best view of the plains outside. No lights, neither candles nor lanterns have been lit, and the only light is the chill moonlight pouring in through the high narrow casement. It is a full moon, winter-silver in colour and echoing the snow blanketing the landscape.

The silence fills the room, and the broad-shouldered figure standing by the casement could have been carved from basalt. A draft dances along the floor, little icy curliques courtesy of the stone that surrounds them.

 

"Used to say the lads could smell snow. They'd be bolting out the door as soon as the first flakes fell." The voice is low and gravelly, but no more so than usual. He is, however, well used to reading each little shift in Dwalin's demeanour. The sketches he draws chart the rises and falls, but he shows the drawings to no one.

There are no names named, but he knows all too well who Dwalin is talking about. A strange shiver of sorrow twined with pain rises in his chest, and for a moment, his ears are filled with the noise of battle once more. The sound of screams. Metal on metal, shields and axes splintering.

 

It's been years, but it cuts no less deep. Erebor has been rebuilt and their lives are comfortable, but the battle still haunts them.

"Come back to bed," he says, knowing full well that Dwalin can go for days without sleeping if he needs or wants to. "Please," he adds, resting his forehead against Dwalin's shoulder. He wants to tell Dwalin to give up this ritual, to let the ghosts of those taken before their time settle. In the end, he does not. He only waits it out, stands patiently listening to the silence until Dwalin finally moves.

The bristly edges of Dwalin's beard brush against his chin and neck when Dwalin leans in. "Wouldn't know what to do without you," Dwalin says, the voice little more than a rumble, and settles his hands on Ori's shoulders. His forehead rests against Ori's, and Ori knows without seeing it that the tattoos on Dwalin's scalp will line up with the ones only recently picked out on his.


End file.
